


Red and Black: Dead Line

by jojobot



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dominant Pennywise (IT), Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff, Good Pennywise (IT), Horror, Horror References, Implied Relationship, Manipulation, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Other, Pennywise Being an Asshole (IT), Possessive Pennywise (IT), Rough Kissing, Submissive Reader, Teratophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29031000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojobot/pseuds/jojobot
Summary: Pennywise and reader enjoy some time alone and come to certain terms. They're obsessed with each other but the reader is morally conflicted. He gives you his first gift.
Relationships: Pennywise (IT)/Original Character(s), Pennywise (IT)/Original Female Character(s), Pennywise (IT)/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	Red and Black: Dead Line

**Author's Note:**

> There's artwork made by me at the end! I hope you like it. You can zoom on it.

Pennywise's lair had become a place not only for comfort, but for intimacy between you and him, one that was secluded from the rest of the world. You payed respect to him, his home and his belongings, so as a fair interchange, he let you "play" with them. You preferred to simply call it observation, or to just make a good use of them, taking care of them. 

Since you saw the universe with different eyes, you knew the purpose of those possessions held a different meaning for both of you. To him, they were souvenirs; they were symbolic and they were events worth remembering, just like a painting in a museum. It meant triumph. Or maybe, he was simply a pack rat and you couldn't resist romanticizing every aspect of its complex yet simple way of living. 

In contrast, you thought of them as a devastating and disappointing fiasco—especially the toys, which outnumbered the rest. It was loss. The way they were taken away was not fair. Even if the reason they were here right now was to satiate the hunger of a creature, this wasn't the cycle of life that the lion and the antelope went through. The Eater of Worlds could eat whatever it wanted; humans were just an extra-special edible for a picky consumer. This cycle, _Its cycle,_ was purely a malevolent game. Not out of simple disdain anymore, it had now become something _passionate._

... This, if you were to judge its actions by human normative. Pennywise played by his own rules, meaning no morality in between his sins and himself, just doing. To him, the only moral thing was, well, morality—you quickly learned that he could be good, bad, both or none at the same time. What was the difference between a creature's instincts and a person's willful actions anyway? The heavyness of his staring diverted you from your thoughts as you stopped mindlessly caressing some doll's synthetic hair. 

The eldritch clown was sitting on his dusty La-Z-Boy, the one self-proclaimed on his head as his throne. His hands were both relaxed on top of the couch's armrests, but the ongoing staring made his forefront stiff. He was eyeing you from head to toe. Seeing you resting on your knees, on the floor, barely a few meters from him, and still so calm made him able to appreciate your form more easily. After all, a fast and dodging prey was never something good, neither was a witty one—he considered you smart, yet here you were, still by his side. He had his own questions about you too, but it only encouraged him to twist you even more.

He had never labeled something as "cute," but to him you were so cute, he wanted to smash your face into a wall until it bled out, just to wipe it off. His upper lip started twitching and his nails slightly began sinking in the leather below them. Unknowing of his thoughts, you smiled at him from afar, with squinted eyes that offered kindness. You had succesfully _infected_ him with feelings, and it made him sick to the stomach. 

Whether he wanted it or not, you were not only changing the speed at which his black heart beat, but the atmosphere of his own place. The place had always been damp and wet with puddles, but it was only now that you were in his life that weed and grass had started emerging from the surface. A small and fragile dandelion was now peeking out next to his feet, reminding him of you. 

Deep in thought for a short moment, his gloved fingers made a few consecutive taps on his chair, he leaned a bit in, barely touching the flower with the sole of his shoe, with just the tip, making it die instantly. It was now as dark and dry as his most essential organ, its petals now closing in themselves apprehensively, forming a perfect skull. Pennywise imagined that if it could, the sorry thing would give a nicotine cough as a last gesture. He could re-enact the same performance with you if he wanted to, but only if he wanted to. He didn’t, for _personal reasons,_ but knowing the fact that he was able to is what made him secure. After all, you were already putty in his hands, and his grip was tight. This toy of flesh that you were—he just wanted to exploit it for a little longer. 

Staring bravely at him, your eyes travelled downwards towards one of his hands resting on his lap, tapping on it to indicate you to sit on it. He wanted you closer, accessible, not only within reach but at hand. You eyed his legs hesitantly, a lump forming in your throat. As in need of further instructions, a gloved and wiggly finger caught your attention, emphasizing that he wanted you to come nearer. 

Between intimidating terror and perfect bliss, you engrossingly walked up to him and cautiously sat on his lap, face to face. The warmth of his legs felt good as they touched the back of yours. He grabbed your middle and began tracing circling motions on your ribs with his thumbs appreciatively, the rest of his fingers caressing your sides and back; your body couldn’t help but to stutter a bit—the only thing you could do in this drunken state was to press your elbows protectively into you and stare into his bright yellow orbs, basically give in. 

Nothing needed to be said. You had also found out fast that he didn’t talk nor speak unless he absolutely needed to, requiring a certain reaction. That aspect sort of pleased you, but that didn’t mean he drained less energy out of you.

Pennywise had deep, intelligent eyes, ones of a thinker, supressing something wild in them. Perhaps, it was the thing about him you found yourself fixating on the most, other than his mouth and hands. His gaze was as much poisonous as it was anesthetic. Even the evilness they held, you found that quite charming too. There wouldn’t be any charisma in them without any of those traits. 

Grinning at your compliance and distress, he moved you as he pleased, now having you still sitting on his lap but from the side. The sudden motion made your heart rumble on your chest and you yelped, his unpredictable nature was his strongest point, you could feel your throat and your face throbbing too. He pressed a big hand on top of your head, tilting it back for a better view, the other one squeezed your arm. His long tongue lolled out of his mouth, stretching it obscenely as he panted, expecting, somewhat still smiling. It got close to your face. _He wanted a kiss. Another one._

You still hadn’t gotten used to his kissing, if it could be called that. Not to the deed but yes to it happening often, he grew accustomed to stealing you away from your home to the sewers to fulfill his needs. It was coarse, raw, **lewd**. Sometimes, it didn’t even feel like kissing at all, _but oh,_ did you enjoy the sensation. And you were positive that so did he, the sessions could last hours. 

Just when you sticked out your tongue to feel the graze of yours with his, he backed off and closed his mouth, half-suppressing a laugh. 

“Little freak,” he said asserted in contemplation. 

He snickered and you felt the heat of humiliation rising to your face, quickly averting it away. 

The clown 'oooww’ed' you mocking regret as he squished your cheeks with just one hand, along with commonplace, brute force, trying to get your attention again. When he turned your face around, you found yourself almost nose to nose, but his smile was now stretched impossibly wide, tons of sharp teeth poking out menacingly from his gums. A pair of shit-eating eyes greeted you pleased with themselves as his drool fell violently, drops hitting your chest imitating the sound of rain. You couldn’t help but whimper at the sight, a heavy pant caressing his face. 

“That is _fucked up,_ ” you managed to breathe. 

It wasn’t the first time you saw his teeth, still, you should be scared to death, and you felt like you were, but you couldn’t deny that it made your brain release loads of dopamine. It was a thrilling impact. 

Shifting to his normal expression as if nothing had happened, he pressed his nose and lips against your neck, audibly breathing you in, his eyes rolling in ecstasy. 

“My, my, but how you like it, you’re _obsessed!_ Maybe you’re a little **fucked up** in the head,” he reckoned, “seeing as you find _beauty_ in _horror._ ” 

The monster brought a hand towards your face once again, four fingers behind your ear and a thumb caressing your lower lip in search for more. The slight pressure of it felt so… _right._

“Maybe that’s why you like me so much,” you responded boldly, casually yet nervously laughing it off. 

“Open up,” your partner commanded, its tone serious. 

And so you did, he dipped his thumb in and began playing with your tongue and vice versa. You closed your lips around it and whimpered once more, the act was so indecent it was inevitable not to. It was a constant cycle of wetting the gloved material and sucking that wetness through it again. His gloves weren’t dirty _per se,_ the cotton tasted relatively normal, it just felt a little used, but it surely wasn’t gonna become a pet peeve at this point. He still looked elegant. 

“Oaahhh,” came an agape exhalation from his mouth in delight. 

Talk about obsession, you thought. He utterly adored your submission and your reactions. Your proof? You’ve been under his watch and simultaneously **alive** for months—he groaned when he felt the slight pressure you made around his finger with the muscles of your mouth and teeth. Its chin glistened with saliva. 

“Perhaps you like me _too_ much,” it purred.

 _Right back to you,_ you thought. 

You heard a ripping sound from the insides of your mouth and felt a really long nail prodding at your tongue, the plain part touching the roof of it. Pennywise smiled broadly one more time as the fun of this game increased for him, tasting your patience until you surrendered and broke. You really didn’t mind, and you wanted to prove that you had thick skin—this was nothing, in fact, you liked it. Its sharpness wasn’t so bad, was it? Its scrapping was probably comparable to one of a normal nail.

Curiously, with that thought on mind, you ran your wet muscle along its tip. You felt the immediate burning sensation; it was razor-sharp, and the cut it made was quite profound. You moaned in pain and quickly let go of him with a popping sound, covering your mouth with both hands and squinting your eyes. He looked absolutely appeased. 

“Ssssss, ahhh,” the clown mimicked the burning pain with fake empathy. “Dumb little lamb, **hurting** , again. No worries,” he bent closer to whisper in your ear, _“I’ll kiss it better.”_

Pennywise sucked the excess of red on his claw for a second, another pop, he pressed his lips together and hummed, closing his eyes in gratification—even if it was a really small amount. A total performer. He snatched your hands off from your face and held them tightly away from it, your fists opening like flowers from the mere tension. 

He pressed on your lips harshly, trying to split them apart with a shove of his wet appendage, it was undisputedly ruthless. The far superior advantage he had on you was clear, you let your mouth fall open in compliance and he hurriedly began sucking on the cut, lapping at it. It came to your attention that it didn’t feel that bad after a while, he was really making it better, and you enjoyed its texture, but you knew it wouldn’t stop until it stopped bleeding, so you tried to relax. 

The hold on your wrists became less and less firm, till it went soft. You lowered your hands as his slid sensually upwards, one of them stopped at your shoulder, and the other shifted to stay underneath your head for better access, massaging your roots a bit. The sensitive nerves on your scalp appreciated the warmth that he held, it made you melt completely, made you feel loved… taken care of. 

You placed your hands on both sides of his chest, feeling the worn-out material of his costume, stroking it, trying to communicate that you also appreciated this gesture, and him itself. Your jaws moved tenderly with incredible synchronization, switching sides and making circles, excessive saliva pouring at the corners of your mouth. All you could hear were slurping sounds, desperate panting and the occasional clicking of your lips. The taste of blood ceased fully and he withdrew, a thin string of drool connected you and cut itself as he drew further back.

You both stared intensely at each other’s lips. _I’ve seen couples do that unconsciously when they’re in love,_ you thought. Your heart skipped a beat at the supposition. 

“I didn’t know you liked playing doctor,” you accused cheekily as you struggled to breathe correctly. 

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Ohh… but I _knew_ you’d like playing patient. Don’t you know Operation?” His voice grew bubbly and hoarse, “I like that one, ‘play it often.” The rude euphemism didn’t slip past through you, you catched it very well. You stiffened. 

His sight was now set on your heaving chest, watching it rise and fall with difficulty. He got some twisted nourishment from the very sight of you. He started caressing your face with unrequested tenderness—if Lovecraft took a peek at the dynamic of your relationship, he’d be crying. 

He bent down and took you into his mouth again, now pinching one of your nipples playfully between the side of his knuckle and his thumb. You mewled into his mouth in surprise, your chest stuttering in pleasure. 

“What is it that you truly desire?” He began pinching both of your tits so that you had a hard time answering properly, then a bit harder. The creature just ate up your torment. 

You couldn’t help but shake your head from side to side, his touching was overwhelming, you tried opening your mouth but only whimpers came out, speaking was impossible. “Hmm?” He continued blithely bullying you into answering, completely unbothered. It wasn’t much of a merciful being, and it didn’t seem like that was going to change soon either. 

“The wires inside that little, sick head of yours, they’re **_damaged_** _._ Now, who’s going to repair that?!” He stressed with sarcastic concern, now rolling your nipples clockwise and in reverse—“with that odd curiosity of yours, pinning for me and my doings, wishing for the fictional to be real, chasing the corrupt, how fun. Is it _neurosis_? Or maybe,” he lifted your clothes to your collarbones, never taking his eyes from yours, _“a fetish?”_ The air he breathed out brushed deliciously on your chest. He resumed the subtle yet oppressive work.

You had never been more turned on in your entire life, this was pure torture, yet you loved every second of it. The mere implication that this could go further, that this strange pleasure could potentially increase, made you curl your toes with excitement—you just had to play your cards correctly and you both could get something out of this, like you always did. This though, was an upgrade. 

“I don’t- hmmm… ah, I don’t want to be- don’t wanna be evil. I just, hah, I just want to _understand_ it. You said- you said I was enamoured with the concept… Unhhnn, as the- the embodiment of horror, I want you- ah! I want you to **love** me!” 

He immediately stopped. 

“… And don’t say you can’t. I… I know you can, in your own way. It doesn’t have to be… morally correct. I don’t want to change your nature, that was never my goal. I just want to experiment your existence as long as it coexists with mine.” He eyed at you, almost incredulous. 

“You’ll shed blood. _That’s my love._ ” A fair warning.

You placed a warm hand on his cheek. "What’s blood for… if not for shedding?” 

It opened its eyes, wider than it ever had before, as in realization of something crucial. 

He grabbed your armpits and lifted you, only to threw you with great force a few meters from him onto the damp, dirty floor. Its texture scraping the skin on your bare back and elbows, you felt it sting and gasped in pain. _Asshole._ As if he wasn’t the one who just separated you apart, he grabbed your ankles tightly and dragged your fragile body towards his, scraping the fresh, new wounds again, now in reverse. 

Complaining was not an option right now, you asked for this. 

He took hold of one of your sweet mounds and put it in his mouth, beginning to suck and desperately lap at it, repeatedly. Your head shot up in shock as you grabbed at his shoulder sleeves, quickly falling back in place as your eyes rolled back and gave the longest moan. You couldn’t help giving involuntary kicks to the air and squirming away from him; the pleasure was unbearable. It sent arousal not only to your chest, but to your clitoris and cervix as well, you could feel that tickling sensation in your throat too, making a lump in there once again. If he were to ask you a question, now was not the time. 

With a hand on your curved spine, he lifted half of your body as he sucked and released your whole breasts on a repetitive cycle, with pauses of less than a second in between. There wouldn’t be a break. Your ears and brain were clogged with only the vulgar sound of his popping and suckling as it echoed through the lair, which no one else could hear but you two—the fact that it was so secretive made this feel even more dirty. You felt yourself clenching around nothing. 

He rested his chin on his chest as his mouth dropped open, an unimaginable amount of drool falling on your chest in big, long glops. Puckering his lips wasn’t even necessary. _You made him salivate that much._ His gaze was so profound, consuming and fierce that you already felt fucked with that stare only. Spreading equally amount of drool on both breasts, it began lapping at your nipples with a big, heavy and textured tongue in a sloppy, snake-like manner, making a show of showing it to you. He wet the valley in the middle as it went from left to right and right to left without lifting from you. 

“More, more, please, please, so good, more,” you whined and panted incoherently with a foggy mind as you puffed out your chest. He wasn’t the only one with a tongue out. You could feel the pressure underneath and above your eyes for tears to come out as your face was hotter and probably redder than ever. 

“ _Greedy_ thing.” 

He cackled with opened mouth and granted your wish in reciprocation as you begged prettily for him, pressing harder and adding more velocity. After all, he thought you were behaving very well. 

You didn’t know if you could come only from this, but everything had an end, and this had to end soon, or you’d feel like you’d die. It was too much. You gave your last grunting moans as you sticked your back to the floor, away from the self-gratification—of course, that didn’t mean you weren’t fully satiated, you didn’t need to go all the way, this was perfect too. Closing your eyes in satisfaction and exhaling as if you just ran a marathon and won, he grabbed you and embraced you as you both sat again on the chair. Trembling, you timidly touched his back, wanting to embrace him too. You rested your head underneath his soft collar. 

“Love you,” you simply poured the feeling out without giving it much of a thought. 

Pennywise stood silent, he was trying to come in terms with his own feelings. It felt as if he had to grab something from inside a cabinet full of dust to give it a use for the first time, that cabinet being his chest.

“I… _adooore you._ ” 

You were the flowers, and he was the bad weed, but those complemented each other regardless. 

It came out with a gentle and raspy voice, one that you liked a lot. He nuzzled his nose on your neck, breathing you in again, his purring vibrated on it too, though, now it sounded more guttural, reaching further, resonating louder. You liked that too, and longed to be held, just a little bit longer. Just when you felt like you could perfectly drift off to sleep on him like this, he opened his mouth greatly, and sank his teeth between your shoulder and your neck, deeply so. 

You were in incredible pain. 

Teary eyes shot open as you screamed from the top of your lungs, hurting your vocal chords. You stabbed your nails on its back and pinched his skin as you frightfully fought for escaping from his grasp, but you couldn’t move, you were stuck. He gave no reaction. You felt betrayal for several seconds, and then, you felt stupid. You let your guard down when you shouldn’t have. Quick, never ending tears adorned your face. He did warn you, and the worst part, was that you couldn’t blame him for this, only yourself. This was your fault.

“No! No, no, no, no…” you hit and punched him with your fists again and again in despair as you sobbed, but still no reaction. Your tears drained off as you accepted your fate. He was going to take a big chunk of muscle, and you’d bleed to death. At the end of the day, you were just a piece of meat, dead meat. 

He surprisingly retracted his teeth and released you, but you writhed and whimpered in agony. Lots of blood started leaking and he lapped everything at his reach for several minutes, you didn’t know if it was out of self indulgence or to cease your pain, but this was inherently better. You suddenly felt grateful. 

You backed off hiccupping and sniffing, taking his meal away from him, your eyes red and puffy. The blood didn’t stop, so you touched the injury with four of your fingers. You lifted the bloody hand to your face and looked at it for a while, such quantity made you appreciate the color much better, you’ve never seen that much, it was shinier, more saturated, and thicker. 

“It’s… it’s _beautiful_ ,” you simply stated.

Pennywise lovingly purred in agreement. “You should see it at night, underneath the moonlight,” he whispered, “it’s black as a raven.” 

“Huh... ‘that so?” You babbled tiredly with half closed eyes and credulous trust on him. You hoped you could see it some day. 

He softly grabbed your wrist and took your fingers into his mouth, colliding with his bucky, less abnormal, and importantly less sharp teeth. He could hear the sound of your knuckles, bones resonating inside of his mouth and head. Once he licked them clean, he grabbed your waist and put you on your feet. 

“Off, off you go,” he conceded agitating his hand on the air nonchalantly, the other resting underneath his chin boringly. 

You stared at him incredulously, stupefied even. 

“Go home and treat your silly little injury, unless you want to see more of that pretty red coming out.” He wasn’t going to be clearer than that. 

You walked slowly, still unbelieving the ending he just allowed you to have. As you walked past him, he grabbed your arm backwards forcefully, the pulling on your limb made everything hurt more, as everything was connected. 

“There’s a gift for you, under the bed. Don’t abuse it.” 

You gulped. You weren’t so sure you wanted to know how and when did he put it there, or if you wanted to open it. “Will we see each other again?” You asked with a little too much urgency. 

“You will hear from me,” he assured you cracking a smile you couldn’t see. 

You looked forward to it, you just hoped you wouldn’t faint on your way back. 

* * *

Already disinfected and bind up, with a broom on hand and a saucepan lid as your shield, you kicked your bedroom door open with your foot, slowly peeking your head in, vigilant of anything unusual. Everything looked… relatively normal. Your books were in order and so were your posters, your bed was intact too. Taking some distance, still wary of anything that could happen, you got on your knees and looked under the bed, lifting the covers so they didn’t get in the way—there was something that didn’t belong to you indeed, but you couldn’t make up the shape quite yet. You grabbed the broom, and used it as a hook, pulling it towards you. 

This… You didn’t expect this, but you immediately loved it. All worrying thoughts dissipated away.

So, Pennywise had gifted you a vintage, heart-shaped red telephone. Is his intention to talk to you on the phone? Daily? You couldn’t even imagine how that could work out as neither of you were that talkative. It seemed like a sweet gesture, but that was out of character. As you kept thinking about it, the heart looked like something out of mockery, that fit him much better. But still, it was really pretty, you traced your fingers on the edges delicately—you wondered if it belonged to someone he had eaten, but tried to ignore that thought. If it did, you were going to take care of it anyway, out of respect and basic common sense. 

Efficiently blowing on it to remove the little amount of dust it had, you put it on your working desk. You lifted the phone from it’s base to blow on the insides too, and you saw a little memo with red lettering, obviously from him, his face was comically drawn on it and everything. 

**Remember the curfew! 7 P.M.**

_Mocking the Derry Police Department, nice one._

Still, what did that exactly entail? _Was he going to call you at 7 P.M.?_ You instantly noticed that it lacked the cable that should connect to a wall. Was this a toy? This whole deal was stressing you out. You put the phone on your ear—dead line. It magically worked, _great._ So, it was another advantage of power from his part; the transmitter could call the receptor but the receptor was not allowed to become a transmitter. _Super great. How could you abuse of this?_ You hated this, but part of you tried to idealize the unfair situation, romanticizing it again, thinking of this as something more intimate, where no one else was allowed to enter the circle. 

You went to sleep. 

* * *

Two weeks after that special evening with your wicked lover, you were still thinking of him, _and how could you not._ It was like a permanent stain in your brain—you decided it was time for a horror movie, _that usually relaxed you and all that jazz._

Coming from the video store, you sat on the floor of your bedroom to insert the tape into the VCR, not before looking at the fun and strange art cover appreciatively before sliding it out of its confinement. You didn't know much about this one, but its visuals had caught your attention back at the store. Loving the smell of something new, you put it inside the device and pressed the power button.

A little TV rain was normal, but this one was taking a while. You hit it carefully but firmly a few times on top, just in case. Luckily, it seemed to work just fine. The first image that came into view was a beautiful redhead woman; she had voluptuous cheeks and plump lips, her eyes were light and potent, holding an influence that made it hard to take yours apart. 

You knew beforehand from watching many films that the color red was often used to evoke strong emotions, were they danger, love, or passion. She had it everywhere, on her clothes, on her makeup, even the light that beamed behind her for dramatic effect was of that color.

"Come to me," she instructed.

"Come."

"Don't make me wait."

You didn't know what it was, but you felt put under some sort of spell, like you were sent into a trance. You sat on your knees with mouth agape.

 _"Please,"_ she pleaded with a sultry voice.

The TV began to expand as she started breathing heavily, as if it were _alive_ , as if she _craved_ you. 

If this was a dream, it was definitely one hell of a dream.

You began crawling to her, and put your hands on the outlines and roof of the TV, caressing it with disbelief. It only made her panting louder, veins emerging to the surface as it kept moving.

 _Gross,_ you thought, _but_ _groovy_ _nonetheless._

The device purred at that fondly in a well defined, unmistakable, animalistic tone. The one of your lover—raising your brows in shock, you pulled back to take a look at her, but she wasn't there anymore, a different person took her place. A man.

_Was he...?_

This one had unkempt, dirty blonde locks. He didn't emanate the same feeling as her, he evoked fear in you, the kind that you knew very well in certain type of men. His presence screamed danger, debauchery, but it was exactly that what made you feel shamelessly warm in the correct places. He had intense eyes too.

"Come on," he reassumed.

The skin on your arms arose at his deep tone.

"Come to me now."

"Don't keep me waiting." He sucked in saliva, trying to prevent it from falling out.

The glass expanded like a bubble, beckoning you to come closer, his mouth now zoomed in and opened, welcoming you—you put your face on the glass, but it didn't stop there, you crossed the solid barrier. You had this feeling in your chest that you could do anything. At the sight of his shiny tongue, you opened your mouth to taste it.

A disruptive, loud noise snapped you out of it, the phone rang.

You looked back at it dumbfounded, then back at the TV. It was turned off, reflecting your dumb expression in black, trying to understand what the hell just happened, if it was a dream or not. 

_You willingly put your head inside the mouth of the lion, that’s what happened,_ you reprimanded yourself.

Still, you couldn’t believe it was actually ringing. You were excited, but part of you felt scared to actually pick up, you just hoped he wouldn’t pull a Freddy Krueger on you. You looked at the clock, _7 P.M._ —you left it ringing a few more seconds, but not so many as to fully lose the call. _Wanting to play hard to get a bit after two weeks wasn’t such a bad idea, it wouldn’t hurt his pride._

You picked up the phone, hesitantly bringing it to your left ear and lips.

“Hello…?” You asked in satire as if you didn’t know who was at the other end of the line. 

“Did you _miss_ me?” He teased. 

Ah, that voice. It sent a shiver down your spine, you really did miss it. You laid on your bed bringing the phone with you, playing with the wire like a teenager having a moment with their silly crush. 

_“… Yes,”_ you breathed. Admitting that simple fact made you flush, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but it would end up happening eventually. “Thank you, for the gift. I love it.” 

"I missed you too, my little lamb." 

You melted into your pillow.

“Was that… was that you, just now?” 

You both stood in silence, only hearing his breathing, which sounded a bit... ragged, earnest. You closed your eyes, leaving a comfortable sigh, simply enjoying his presence. 

"Are you there, Billy Lenz?" You questioned jokingly. 

Pennywise didn't understand who you meant, but you heard a raspy snort. It seemed he didn't like that name.

"Ah, sorry, it's a reference to a character from a horror movie. He's a killer that makes obscene and sexual phone calls to girls in a sorority house." You exhaled a short laugh at the comparison, "It shows some pretty good kills, maybe... We could watch it together someday." 

You hoped that wasn't too much; it was hard to portray Pennywise sitting on one spot in front of a screen for more than an hour and a half, it was too human-like, too uncanny, but you were curious as for what his response would be. Cuddling with screams as background noise didn't seem too unappealing. 

"Ooww... and why do that when we could recreate it, hm? You were awfully naughty the other day."

You whimpered a bit from just the memory of it. His proposal made you tingly too, that was new. 

"And you were awfully mean. My shoulder still hurts," you reprimanded. 

"Where else do you _ache,_ tiny thing?" You could hear the delectation in its voice. He neglected attention on your physical affliction, but he'd rather concentrate on something not entirely different. 

You knew what his expectations were for your responses, and debated whether to give in and be naughty again or give him blue balls for something more important. He wanted to explore that special place between your legs, but you wanted to neglect him too, two could play that game. 

"Everywhere. But... Specifically on the center and left side of my chest." You shifted to lay on your stomach for comfort as you squeezed the phone between your face and your unharmed shoulder. "Penn... my love means _care_. That's what I'll try to wrap this relationship in. I'll care for you, and you can care for me as well, you can count on me.

Pennywise went silent again. 

“Would you _kill_ for me?”

Your mouth went dry.

"I don't- I don't think that's a fair question. Maybe? If someone is hurting you, I might." 

Silence. _These calls were surely going to be entertaining._

"Though, if you were manipulating me, I wouldn't have a choice in the matter, and my answer would be irrelevant."

"Ah, ah, ah, don't wisen up now," the clown adviced. 

"If it makes your sadist-self feel better, I can make them suffer first. Break their legs and arms a little. Want me to pop their eyes out too?" 

Pennywise took a good second to let what you said sink in. He chuckled a bit, and then it became a full-on, bubbly laugh. It sounded genuine, and it was a bit contagious. 

Yeah, you couldn't imagine that either. A kick on the shins or a punch in the nose was more than enough for you. You began to laugh too. 

“Would you… _die_ for me?” You questioned shyly.

“I cannot **die**.”

_But you might be able to get killed,_ you couldn’t help to think. “No, I know. But, hypothetically, if you had to die in order to save me, would you?”

Pennywise hadn't called you to have a meaningless, too human for his taste, conversation. He wasn’t even using a phone in the first place, just manifesting his voice through yours. He had a different goal, and he was getting a bit pissed at how you’ve managed to get him far away from it at first, but he had to admit, it was getting somewhere interesting. He thought about his response taking his sweet time. 

“I think this one is meant to be fairer than the last one,” you added, “given that you’ve lived far more than I will ever live. You’ve enjoyed yourself.” You hoped that he didn’t took this as you advocating he had lived _enough,_ nor that his _time_ was up, you were just teasing. 

“If I am _gone_ you are gone with me.” _Romantic._

“So, dying together it is.”

Shifting on your back again, you looked at the ceiling and covered your eyes with a palm. 

"Am I giving away my humanity for you?" You asked with worried brows and a frightened smile. 

You hadn’t intended for this to become a questionnaire game, but this is what it had become. At least that was better than gallons of blood cascading through the speaker, or a slimy tongue coming from it to poke at you.

"Are you?" It bounced back with interest. 

"Who holds the devil, let them hold him well," you whined out defeated. You cleared your throat. “I think I miss you more than I’d like to admit.”

“Hm. Then, open your pathetic, delicious little legs and _give in._ ” 


End file.
